


better left unsaid

by jenhrding



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F, dumb gay bitches, jen is spiraling, judy likes things to go with the flow, they have drunk clumsy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenhrding/pseuds/jenhrding
Summary: "She almost hates it, the way it feels like when you’re suspecting the people around you are planning a surprise party for your birthday but you don’t want to think too highly of yourself, don’t want to assume, and you just live in that limbo, because it seems like they’re hiding something, like they know something you don’t, but maybe that’s not it and you’re just spiraling for no reason."or they're dating but they don't talk about it.
Relationships: Judy Hale & Jen Harding, Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 18
Kudos: 159





	better left unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> i know i posted a fic not even a week ago but apparently my brain cant stop thinking about them  
> enjoy

* * *

They go out sometimes, because apparently that’s what you do after you’ve come out safe from two hit-and-runs and successfully covering up a murder. Also, Judy says they should because they had so much fun when they were in Antelope Valley and she wants to do it again. So they do, on those days when Henry agrees to go to his grandma’s or one of his friend’s houses for a sleepover and Charlie goes to his girlfriend’s place.

Jen usually picks the place, gay bars or clubs where they have a smaller chance of getting hit on by annoying men — and she doesn’t like to think of the implication of that, that maybe she thinks Judy might take the hint —, but this time she lets Judy pick. The woman mentions a club that her ex-girlfriend suggested once but they never had the chance to go to, and Jen thinks it’s risky, she really wouldn’t like running into Michelle, but Judy says she’s not in town anymore, that she got a job somewhere else, so Jen agrees, thinking that if Judy’s ex was the one who suggested it, maybe it could still be similar to what she usually chooses.

It’s not. Jen doesn’t think there’s one gay couple in this club, but she’s not about to ask Judy to leave because _it's not gay enough for her_. So they sit at the bar, order drinks and Judy has a hand on her thigh, she thinks that’s enough for now.

It wasn’t much of a revelation when she noticed she was in love with Judy. She never thought her past experiences in college would ever mean anything in the future, but here she is, living with the realization that she might not like men at all, that after more than forty years she’s understood that every relationship she had with men was actually unwanted and born out of desperation. Jen doesn’t think she didn’t love Ted, she just thinks she wasn’t in love with him, got it mixed up because they moved so fast and she got stuck in a suffocating marriage for almost two decades.

Marrying a man was what she was told to do, not directly but in all those little hints when adults talked to her: “ _your future husband might not like that_ ”, “ _when you want to have kids, find a good man_ ”, “ _you're gonna make a man very happy someday_ ”. So she did it, did everything that was in the rulebook for young, upper class girls, and even if she doesn’t regret her children one bit, and doesn’t regret Ted because without him there would be no Charlie and Henry, Jen realizes it wasn’t what she really wanted to do, it was just a result of a repression of who she is.

She hasn’t told Judy yet, feels a bit like she’s lying, but she isn’t. They didn’t talk about it when it was her, so why should Jen sit with her and say “ _hey, I might be a lesbian_ ”? The feeling is still there, though, she thinks it’s not her fault, because after so many lies it’s natural that she wants to tell her friend everything, she just hasn’t found the right time yet. Also doesn’t want to tell because that might make her want to confess her feelings, and she can’t handle another rejection, can’t handle Judy’s sympathetic eyes while she says “ _oh, Jen, that’s so sweet, but I’m so sorry_ ”, ‘cause she knows the brunette would feel guilty about not feeling the same way, and she can’t have that.

And while she’s been contemplating the implications of her omission in front of the restroom mirror, she misses the way a man approaches Judy, tries to create small talk with her because why wouldn’t he when she’s sitting there by herself. When she leaves the bathroom, somehow her eyes lock with Judys immediately, and she sees it, sees the way her smile is fake and there’s a tiny hint of a cry for help in her gaze. She likes to think it’s a soulmate thing, even if she doesn’t believe in that stuff.

Jen wraps an arm around Judy’s waist and waits, wants to see if he’ll catch on, also needs to make sure Judy actually wants him to leave.

“So, are you gonna give me your number or…?” Jen lays her forehead on Judy’s shoulder and rolls her eyes, before looking up and smiling at him.

“I’m actually not available, so…” She points at Jen and she has to keep in mind that it’s an act and that she is, in fact, available.

“Oh, you didn’t mention having a girlfriend.”

“That's because she has a wife.” The blonde answers before Judy can say anything, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

It’s almost not a lie, though, they do live a pretty married life. Judy mothers their kids, sleeps in her bed, they go grocery shopping together, repaint the walls together when it’s needed, sometimes they even dance in the middle of the dark kitchen for no reason at 3am. She doesn’t know if it can be considered a marriage — other than the they don’t kiss part of it —, it’s something she’s never had with Ted, but she hasn’t had many close friendships with women either. It’s all kind of a fog, like she’s trying to feel her way inside a completely dark house.

At least the guy leaves, they drink and they dance so glued together no one even tries to approach either of them. Judy wraps her arms around her neck and Jen guides her hips with her hands, the distance is almost dangerous, almost as if it’s insinuating something. It’s funny, Jen thinks, how Judy is almost panting inside her mouth, little bits of her vodka scented breath making their way to her slightly parted lips, how she has to lick her lips and swallow because she’s almost drooling, how the warm body on hers makes her knees tremble but she refuses to let go, refuses to untangle because this might be as far as they go, this might be the only thing she has that’s close to what she wants, so she’s not about to give up on it.

* * *

Judy comes out of the bathroom one day and asks if she misses college. They’re going to sleep and she’s just got out of the shower, her body is wrapped in her robe, she used a hairdryer but her brown locks are still a little damp, which shows it’s a lazy night, a Friday where she doesn’t feel like doing much except talking before bed. Jen watches the few droplets on her chest and it feels almost impossible to look away, to take her gaze far from the tiny expanse of skin she’s able to see, the one she dreams of touching every night.

She looks up and says she does miss college, that she had a great time, and Judy agrees, says it was the first time she actually felt free of her mother and all the issues that came with her. Then she tells stories that make Jen laugh, and the blonde is thankful for it because she’s not tired one bit. Judy tells her about the time her first girlfriend broke into her dorm because she was convinced she was sleeping with someone else, she laughs about it but says she was scared as fuck — and Jen doesn’t comment on how much she likes it when Judy cusses.

“Do _you_ have any college stories to tell me?” And this is it, Jen thinks, this is the opening she has for the thing that’s been eating her alive for months.

“None of my exes ever broke into my dorm but-“ She chuckles, still finding the story quite disturbing. “-I did have a friend who burned all my pictures with my girlfriend at the time because she was jealous.” She studies Judy’s face carefully, sees a hint of something in her eyes, in the way they widen the slightest bit but she swallows dry, blinks two times and continues the conversation casually, and Jen definitely doesn't mind it.

“Do you have any pictures left?”

Jen gets up and grabs a box from a high shelf in her closet. She sits back on the bed with it open before them, shows Judy pictures with her ex-girlfriend and with friends she hasn’t seen in years. Judy picks up a photo of her wedding day, says she looked beautiful, that she loves the dress she wore and Jen thanks her, says she looked better because she was happy, that she thinks she looks good now too, now that she has Judy being a part of her family. It’s a revelation she wasn’t ready to let go of, so she puts the pictures away and places the box on her dresser, comes back to bed and sits up against the headboard.

Judy’s in the same position as her, she takes advantage of it and wraps both of her arms around the other woman’s torso, lays her head on her shoulder, hugging her sideways. She feels Judy’s head coming to lay on top of hers and enjoys the way her right arm rises and falls with the pattern of her breathing in her diaphragm.

“I'm glad you’re here.” Jen whispers. “I appreciate you a lot.” And there’s a tear she sees fall on Judy’s chest, isn’t surprised because she knows how much she enjoys hearing this. “I love every little thing about you.”

So Judy kisses the top of her head, squeezes her harder and whispers “ _I love you too_ ”, and somehow Jen feels like it’s all a promise, something about it being combined with Judy _knowing_ this thing about her that she has fought to hide for years, that she didn’t even let herself believe until a few months ago. Judy’s in now, will probably think her lasting stares have another meaning, that maybe there’s another connotation in her “ _I love you_ ”s, that the kisses Jen places on her cheek may want to be placed elsewhere. Judy _knows_ , and, surprisingly, Jen's completely okay with it.

* * *

“How did I not know you don’t eat the pizza crust? I’ve known you for two years.”

“That's because Charlie takes them from my plate before you even have time to see.” Judy laughs. “And we’ve never really done this, you know, just us.”

“Yeah, why the fuck not?” Jen remarks. “I’m gonna start to steal your crust from Charlie’s plate.”

“If he lets you.” She teases.

“He has to, I’m his mother.”

Charlie usually says they’re joined at the hip, that he can’t even imagine how they get when his brother and him aren’t around. She nudges him, tells him to respect her and his other mom, but she doesn’t deny it, _can’t_ deny it, she refuses to lie to him more than she already has to, and it’s not like she’d be lying about something huge, either, because it doesn’t matter that she’s in love with Judy, nothing even happens, they behave just like friends do.

(He doesn’t believe it, and she doesn’t either.)

She enjoys lazy nights, those where Judy doesn’t have to cook and she doesn’t have to do dishes after, those where they eat in their bedroom, on their bed, because Jen couldn’t care less — only cleans up after so they don’t have to sleep on dirty sheets —, she feels great, like maybe she could live with this, whatever it is, their domesticity and platonic relationship. She doesn’t _need_ the romantic part, doesn’t _need_ the sex, she’s just fine like this, this is enough for her.

Jen believes it, that is, until she takes a _look_ at Judy. Finds herself pathetic, because all it takes is a look and she’s all head over heels with feelings again. Judy’s staring at the TV, laughing at something a spoiled twenty year old said in some reality show, and Jen can only think about how much she wants to kiss her. They’ve already discarded the pizza box and cleaned the duvet, now she’s just waiting until sleep catches her, but apparently that’s impossible when the woman she wants more than anything in the world is lying next to her.

She _could_ just do it. Could just say “ _can I kiss you?_ ” or simply go for it. Then she’d know if there’s something there, even if she’s convinced that it comes just from her. It’s not like Judy has given any indication. She’s dated three people after meeting Jen, has gone on two dates after breaking up with her ex-girlfriend, and she doesn’t seem to mind getting hit on at bars — of course, when the person is not too disgusting that Jen has to intervene.

It’s almost as if everything Jen doesn’t do — meet other people, flirt with other people, make herself available — so Judy can understand that she wants her and only her, the brunette doesn’t seem to mind doing, seems like she’s only waiting for someone that she actually likes to show up. So she doesn’t believe that Judy would accept a kiss because she’s into Jen, she just thinks that she would say yes because she wants it from anyone, and what they have is comfortable, could make it easier for Judy to lean in.

She lays her head back on her pillow and closes her eyes, tries to forget the world around her, Judy’s laugh, the annoying reality show that she only watches because her friend likes it — and she’s shocked at how much she knows about it —, the slight scent of mozzarella mixed with the lavender from Judy’s bedside candle that should make her throw up but doesn’t because the mint from her own brushed teeth helps soothe it, the warmth that Judy exudes under the covers, the way that her brains keeps saying “ _reach over, hold her thigh, move closer_ ”, and she ignores it.

When she wakes up, Judy isn’t there, but she can hear the faint sound of her moving around downstairs. After everything that happened, waking up and not feeling Judy always makes her heart beat faster, even if she knows she’s just in the kitchen, her mind takes a second to catch up, as though it needs a confirmation, needs the sound of her platforms against the floor, needs to hear her humming a soft song, just to know she’s there, she’s safe, and she’s not going anywhere.

She walks downstairs to find the woman still in her robe, striding barefoot while getting everything ready for them. Jen likes the thought that Judy still makes breakfast for her even when the boys aren’t there.

And then it happens, as Jen might feel like she’s going insane.

“Morning, sunshine.” She says because it’s true, because Judy almost has rainbows coming out of her mouth.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Judy teases back, because of course she does, and Jen smiles, walking closer, placing herself next to her.

Judy turns around to look her in the eye and pecks her lips. Jen frowns, feels like she’s about to faint, but the brunette just smiles and goes back to the stove.

While she’s sitting on the stool next to the island, she thinks. _Maybe I imagined it. Maybe I’m still sleeping. Maybe she kissed my cheek and my brain made this up because I’m going insane._ But then Judy sits on the stool next to her and lays a hand on her thigh while she eats, and Jen can barely get the food past her throat. She wants to ask, wants to know what’s going through Judy’s mind. But for some reason, she doesn’t. She eats her breakfast and Judy kisses her again before taking their plates away, so she thinks, then, _maybe she means it_.

It keeps happening, soft kisses when one of them gets home from work, before bed, after waking up. Never with tongue, never something more than a greeting. She starts to lean into it, her body now knows it like it’s natural, it goes on autopilot. The kids see it sometimes — Charlie’s seventeen now, but she’ll be calling him kid probably until the day she dies —, they don’t seem to mind, don’t comment on it, don’t ask. It’s like everyone else is living in a frequency and Jen’s living in another. No one thinks anything of it, Jen’s mind is the only one that seems to be running constantly with questions and wondering. She almost hates it, the way it feels like when you’re suspecting the people around you are planning a surprise party for your birthday, but you don’t want to think too highly of yourself, don’t want to assume, and you just live in that limbo, because it seems like they’re hiding something, like they know something you don’t, but maybe that’s not it, and you’re just spiraling for no reason.

* * *

The first time they actually make out — and Jen hates that expression but she’s been using kissing to describe what they’ve been doing lately, so she’s stuck with that one — they’re drunk. And Jen should’ve seen it coming, she knows she should’ve, but it takes her by surprise anyway.

They’re dancing close, as always, like they don’t know how to dance on their own. They’ve never gone to one of Judy’s suggestions anymore — “ _How could I have known it was a straight bar, Jen? Is that even a thing? It’s fine, you can pick from now on._ ” —, so they’re back to their usual, the one where Jen knows the cute bartender that gives them free drinks sometimes — who also said “y _ou should tell her that you’re into her_ ” after Jen denied that they were a couple when she was getting them drinks —, the one where she feels comfortable in the dance floor because she recognizes a few faces.

Judy’s a lightweight. She tries to keep up with Jen but the blonde started drinking when she was fifteen — she does not like to think about how likely cirrhosis is in her future —, and Judy didn’t do it until she was in college, but Jen isn’t _that_ sober herself. She has her forehead laying on Judy’s shoulder while they sway to the rhythm, her eyes are closed and she thinks she might actually drift off to sleep there, even with the loud music, until there are small hands holding her cheeks and pulling her face up. She locks her blues with the browns in front of her and stares curiously, waiting for the other woman’s next move.

Jen hears a gasp when their lips touch, she isn’t sure if it comes from Judy or herself. It shouldn’t be so surprising, considering their history, it’s not like their lips don’t touch all the time, but Jen knows, and she knows that Judy knows, that this is different. This is breaking an unspoken rule, this leads them to the path that they knew they’d be taking someday, everything was leading to it, they just didn’t know when.

And Jen knows that they should stop, knows that if it was the other way around she wouldn’t like to watch a couple eat each other’s faces in the middle of a club, but she feels like she might suffocate if she doesn’t keep going. Judy, although drunker, pulls away and says a “ _do you wanna get out of here?_ ” in her ear, and she doesn’t feel herself nodding, only knows she did because her friend is pulling her to leave out the backdoor.

Maybe she should’ve waited until they got home, maybe there’s an ethical code of “making out with your best friend in public” that she’s not following, but she sees the empty parking lot, she sees a wall, and she sees Judy — dress hugging her body perfectly, lips plumper from when Jen had grazed her teeth on it, hair messed up and sweaty —, and the next thing she knows is that she’s pushing Judy against the — very dirty, she actually feels sorry — wall next to the backdoor. It’s all tongue in all its glory, what she’s been waiting for, for God knows how long. It’s exactly like she imagined it but completely different at the same time. Judy just fits, her lips, the curves of her body, her breathy moans against Jen’s lips, it all fits perfectly in place and Jen knows that there is no one else out there for her.

They manage to behave in the backseat of the uber taking them home, but when Jen sees the inside of her house after opening the front door, there’s nothing holding her back anymore. And of course it isn’t _perfect._ Of course Jen hits her head on the headboard and Judy laughs too much to keep going for a solid three minutes, of course it takes communication — which is something they haven’t been doing much but never seem to get bad at it —, and if Jen’s bra stays on, that’s a talk for them to have at some other time.

Despite all of that, despite bursts of laughter and injuries, Jen wouldn’t have had it any other way. She relishes in the way Judy comes with high pitched moans and whispers a “ _you're the fucking best_ ” when she’s panting after. She notices she comes like she didn’t know was possible, like she didn’t know a partner could pay attention to _her_ desires and needs. And besides being very clear about what they want and where they want it, they don’t talk about anything else. Jen feels that they should, but maybe some other day, when she’s not semi-naked and finding it hard to talk with Judy’s face between her legs.

* * *

But they don’t. They never sit down and discuss what they’ve become. They have the same routine as before — wake up, make breakfast, send the boys to school, work, come home, unwind and sleep —, except now they have sex before bed or in the mornings where they wake up too early. Jen likes the routine, and although it seems quite robotic, almost as though they’re scheduling an appointment for sex, the act itself is always different than the time before. It seems like the discovering phase will never end, like they’ll never stop finding things that they like, never stop getting a new reaction with a new, tentative, touch.

There’s nothing to tell the boys that they don’t already know, nothing to tell anyone, really — even Lorna says “ _as if you weren’t before? took you long enough to tell me, Jennifer_ ” when Jen tells her that they’re a couple. She likes the way it’s natural, because she hates talking about her feelings, and she’s thankful that Judy initiated this like it was nothing, like they’d end up there at some point anyway, why not give it a little push?

But, of course, things can’t go the way Jennifer wants to all the time. She’s learning about it in therapy, actually, to let go of things she can’t control and to not lose sleep over them, to occupy her mind with good things — Judy, their boys, their family — instead of spiraling like crazy. She slips into old habits once or twice, but it’s not like she’s suffering too much. Judy helps. She brings her wine in bed and they smoke pot sometimes, she draws invisible patterns on Jen’s hip after sex when she feels like the woman is drifting away with thoughts — she notices how her brow furrows and the scar there gets more evident. So, when something strikes her, she tries to let it _go with the flow_ , as Judy puts it.

Judy’s on the phone with her mother. She gets a phone call opportunity every once in a while because of her good behavior, and sometimes she calls Judy, to ask her how she is, degrade her a little and then ask her to have money saved for when she leaves. Jen is always around when it happens, feels like it’s not safe to leave Judy alone with her mom even over the phone.

“What? No, mom. You know I live with Jen.” The blonde takes her eyes away from Henry’s homework that she’s supervising to take a look at Judy’s face. “I told you that three hundred times already… Yes, I have a house, it’s ours.” Jen smiles at her and nods, she likes the way the word ‘our' sounds on Judy’s lips — our boys, our house, our bed, our life. “Jen is my…” She doesn’t wanna say friend, but it’s not like they talked about it either, so she hesitates, until Jen quickly speaks up.

“Girlfriend!” She almost yells, wanting Eleanor to hear her over the phone. Judy just giggles, so Jen winks at her.

“Yeah, you heard right.” Judy says, not paying a lot of attention to her mother’s voice anymore, eyes lost in Jen’s blues in front of her.

She’s never had to ask, one day they were just girlfriends and that was it, no questions asked. She thinks that if she ever wants to marry Judy, she might have to make the sacrifice and talk about her feelings, actually say the words “ _will you marry me?_ ”, because she can't just pull a surprise marriage on her and expect her to go with it — although she feels like she might like it —, there are things that just can’t go unsaid.

But for now, it’s enough. The “ _I love you_ ”s they whisper before bed or before hanging up the phone, the fact that now Jen’s able to take her bra off, the quiet nights with the boys when they play some stupid board game that Jen or Henry always win, the relationship they might as well have always had but didn’t, that didn’t change much of their life, except now they get benefits, and Jen’s not willing to give those up.


End file.
